Brilliance
by LaLaGirl33
Summary: Circa S2, Ep 4. Charlie and Bass are on the road to Willoughby and are fighting their mutual attraction.
1. Chapter 1: Desert Tornado

**A/N: I haven't written any new fandoms in some time...I now have three as I enter the world of Revolution (previous fandoms include Friday Night Lights and My So Called Life-only on LJ). I sincerely hope you enjoy...and that if you do you take time to tell me. :-) **

**I started writing this as I have been pining for this ship to develop, and am not confident it will on screen. So I offer to you...a fanfic ship of Charloe! **

**Reviews are like food, nourishment for a writer's soul! Bon Appetit.**

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**Chapter 1: Desert Tornado**

Looking back, Sebastian Monroe figured he ought to thank those bounty hunters who had liberated him from that hell hole. He'd almost gotten tired of the constant pounding of flesh –both of the fighting and fucking varieties. If nothing else, leaving that joint had spurred him forward instead of the repetitive cycle of slaking his seething aggression on pathetic men who thought they could best him and women that just wanted to have him. While an effective release, it was getting old and he was going nowhere. Now he had purpose. He was going to reach Miles Matheson, the man he called brother. Miles, who was going to make all that was wrong in his world right again. Sebastian figured it didn't matter that Miles currently hated his guts. He would have to make him see they were better together than apart; despite all that lie between them. Destiny had a way of getting in the way. And that was what it came down to, in his mind. Only a fool turns their back on brilliance. And Miles was no fool.

What he hadn't expected though, was that Charlotte Matheson was going to be part of the picture. But nonetheless, here she was. As he'd hoped, the bounty the Patriots had out on her mother and the fact that he'd just saved her life (again), they had reached some sort of partnership; an uneasy truce. She was at least willing to tolerate him and might even be starting to trust him. There was no longer intense hatred burning bright in her eyes like there was just a few days ago in the dry swimming pool, but he understood that hatred. His actions as President of the Monroe Republic were ultimately responsible for the death of her father and her brother.

Shortly after they'd been separated, he had carefully tracked her because he knew she was the key to finding Miles, and apparently these so-called "Patriots" were after him. Either he fought them…or he was forced to live a life on the run. He wasn't even sure what a normal life meant anymore. But he was starting to wonder what it might be like, to live with a woman, a family; on their own land and independent. That seemed like a dream, for a man like him.

Face it, he had enjoyed killing those men at that bar. Not one of those men had stood a chance. The hot burst of rage was old and familiar and as powerful as ever. He actually had not felt that degree of emotion in several years. When he carefully carried Charlotte to safety, his anger cooled and disappeared as he gently laid her in the bed of a wagon and got the hell out of there. He would have preferred horseback to the wagon, but it wasn't possible with Charlotte drugged as she was.

And so now here they were. She had agreed to take him to Willoughby, where her mom and Miles were staying with her grandfather, Gene. He caught her watching him when she thought he wasn't aware of it, and every once in a while he returned the favor. She wasn't hard to look at, not at all. Her skin was tanned and healthy, her eyes a bright blue, like her mother's. Her hair was a nice blend of brown and blonde, and he admitted that when she was unconscious, he'd wanted to run his fingers through it, like he had once before…but had resisted. And her body…he'd best not go there.

"I almost killed you first, you know, before the bounty hunters took you," she broke the silence as the horses plodded along under the hot Texas sun.

What he wouldn't give for a pair of sunglasses right now. "Oh yeah?" He asked. Just when he'd thought for sure things between them were improving. If all she wanted to talk about was killing him, this was going to be a short conversation, and he'd sorely miss-read the situation.

"Yeah. I'd asked the bookmaker at that whorehouse you were fighting at to bring you outside so I could meet you. But instead I was waiting to kill you. When you stepped out, I had you pinned. I don't know why I didn't take the shot immediately. And once I let the arrow fly, it was too late. They had gotten to you first."

He thought back, and recalled that he'd been pressed to go out to meet a woman…_you're gonna want to meet this one, trust me..._ He grinned over at her. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't, otherwise I wouldn't have been there to save your life."

"True. And why did you?"

Sebastian paused. Good question. Why had he? It was more than just needing her to take him to Miles. He admired not only her beauty, but her spirit—defiant and proud and full of purpose. When he'd seen her staggering in the bar, fighting to stay upright and defend against that roomful of bastards…well hell. He'd become so calloused and accustomed to violence, killing, that nothing affected him anymore. Nothing. Seeing her fighting for her life in the bar was like being doused with a bucket of ice cold water. It had woken something up inside of him that had been slumbering quietly for over a decade.

"Charlotte, I know you don't think much of me. But I don't know how I could stand by and watch any woman fight for her life against a horde of stinking, baseless cowards who want to use and abuse her over and over. I may be many things, sweetheart, _but a coward I am not_." He turned his head to look at her as he spoke. The look on her face and in her eyes said she knew how close she had come to being gang-raped and left for dead. He fought the urge to reach over and touch her, let her know that she was not alone…but he figured she wouldn't appreciate it so he looked back to the road instead.

"Look it's in the past, and best left there…" his words trailed off as he saw a pair of riders approaching from a curve up ahead. He licked his lips unconsciously and then found himself taking the reins up in one hand and gently pulling her close into the curve of his body with the other. He felt her stiffen and take a sharp breath at his action but before she could protest the riders descended upon them. He kept his arm around her back, shielding their view of his access to a loaded hand gun, hidden beneath the buckboard. He cocked it but otherwise left it hidden as the riders came to a stop in front of the wagon.

"Howdy friends," drawled the man nearest them as he tipped his hat, his eyes passing over Charlotte before settling on him. "Name's Agent Oliver. I've been tracking a pack of renegades – a gang of murderers and thieves, the most cutthroat lowlifes you've ever seen. And who might you be?"

"Name's Madison, Sean Madison, and this is my wife Christine," he lied easily. "We haven't seen anyone. How many are there, and are they on horseback?"

"They are, and last count had them at five or six. They are armed and extremely dangerous. They attacked some folks on a farm not too far from here a few days back. Took their daughter and well, we found her body earlier this morning. You'd best keep a close eye on your wife there. I don't want to say what they'd done to the girl before they'd killed her, but you can well imagine."

Sebastian felt Charlotte press a little closer to him and with his eyes never leaving the other man's gaze, answered evenly, "Well I can take care of what's mine. I'll kill any man that lays a hand on her, but I appreciate the warning, just the same."

Oliver tipped his hat to them both. "You folks be careful," he warned again before they galloped away.

"Charlotte, keep your eyes on them," he said quietly, while he clucked to the horses and kept his eyes straight ahead while they pulled the wagon out. He considered unhitching the horses and riding the rest of the way. He pulled the pistol out from under the seat and tucked it into the waistband of his pants, at his back.

"Wife?" she asked between her teeth.

"Well, I couldn't tell them the truth now could I? That you'd sooner shoot me than kiss me?"

Just then, two men popped out of the Texas brush, one had a gun drawn and he yelled at them to reach for the sky or he'd shoot. The other man ran up alongside the horses to the bay mare and grabbed her bridle to slow her to a stop. He and Charlotte slowly raised their hands to the air and he kept his eyes locked on the man with the gun which was now aimed squarely at his chest.

"So you tole a lie to the lawman, huh? You're not married?" He drawled. "Well? And keep those hands up," he yelled.

"Uh yeah, we're married. She's just pissed at me. I drank the last of the coffee this morning."

"Nah, I thinks you stole her. I don't thinks you're married at all. I thinks she's a hostage. We been followin' ya. Heard her say she tried to kill you. I happen to believe, she'd sooner shoot you than kiss ya, and I'm bound to find out. Me an him got a bet, see."

He looked over at Charlotte. This was not going to end well.

"So we gotta see, if you're gonna kiss him. Or I'll give you a gun and you can shoot him 'cause he stole ya." He felt her stiffen.

"What? You want me to kiss him? To prove he's my husband?"

"That's right. Kiss him. Or shoot him," he cackled.

Charlotte turned towards him and kissed him quickly on the lips. Sebastian didn't take his eyes off the gun. "There. I kissed him. That's all he gets. Like he said, I'm mad at him for drinking the coffee."

"Shoot, that ain't no kiss, honey. I mean a _real _kiss. Even if he did steal yo coffee you kin kiss 'im better an that!"

He couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped his lips. "Shut up," she hissed at him.

"What? He's got a point," he whispered.

"You want a kiss, I'll give you a real kiss!"

Charlotte took hold of his shirt to pull him to her and covered his lips in a slow, sensuous, melting exchange. He left his hands in the air and struggled to stay upright as the wind was knocked out of him with her sensual onslaught. He fought to keep his eyes open just enough to keep tabs on the man with the gun (and noted with disgust he'd dropped his free hand inside his pants to stroke his own cock). Sebastian slowly lowered his hands to waist level. Charlotte's hands slid down from his chest to around his waist and he felt her gently pull the gun free. As if they'd rehearsed it a thousand times, she passed the gun into his right hand, ducked and took cover as he fired a kill shot to the head of the armed man while the other turned and ran. Sebastian leapt down to chase after the unarmed man. He didn't get far. The man pulled a knife, and a quick exchange left the man in the dirt with his own knife buried to the hilt in his chest.

He returned to the wagon and found Charlotte going through the man's pockets as he put the revolver back in this waistband. "He got anything? The other one didn't have much."

"No," she answered, without meeting his gaze. "I'll keep his gun though."

He stopped beside the wagon and waited for her to join him. "Charlotte, I…" and he stopped cold when her eyes met his. She looked so vulnerable and although he knew it wasn't a good idea, he did it anyway. He simply had to. He couldn't let her think that he had been unaffected. He pulled her into his arms and when his lips met hers she opened to him with a soft cry that nearly unleashed everything he'd been holding back. His curled hands grasped her hips to urgently pull them to his while they devoured each other like starved animals. He felt like he was caught in a sensual tornado by how quickly all his senses came to life. She was trembling when he quickly broke the kiss. He took a small step back, stunned, and let his hands hit his sides. His breathing slowed.

"I think we better get going….what say we unhitch these horses and ride the rest of the way? I'm a little worried if there is a pack of wild animals out there, this slow wagon might mean similar attacks, and as much as I enjoyed the outcome I'm not sure we should tempt fate like this…." he let his question trail off after he realized he was babbling, and tried to pretend instead as if he hadn't just been completely carried away and was within seconds of tossing danger aside and taking her right there.

Charlotte cleared her throat. "Um yeah, I think that's a wise decision."

"Ok. You take the bay mare, and I'll take the chestnut …" and they busied themselves with unhitching the horses from the wagon and continuing their journey on horseback.


	2. Chapter 2: Bedside Stories

**Chapter 2: Bedside Stories**

Charlotte looked over at him for the hundredth time in what seemed like a minute. The terrain had changed now to sparse desert and rock formations, nowhere for anyone to hide, unlike the canyon they'd been riding though earlier. It was nearing dusk, and they'd been looking for a safe place to stop for the night.

She kept replaying the scene over and over in her head. What else was there to do but be quiet with her thoughts? Talking is what had gotten her into trouble in the first place after all. She was mortified that she'd had to kiss him. But in all honesty, she realized she was mortified by the fact that she had liked kissing him. That she hadn't wanted it to stop. She cursed. By all rights, she ought to hate his guts. But instead she was more attracted to him than any man she'd ever known. And what's more…she felt safe when she was with him. Safer than she had felt in a long time. These past few nights, when she closed her eyes to sleep, she wondered how on earth she had ever survived on her own, how she'd managed to get by on restless sleep as opposed to waking up refreshed and whole. The other night, they'd bedded down side by side under the wagon and when she awoke the next morning she was thankful not only for the protection he provided, but the warmth as well as they were curled up back to back; each taking advantage of the other's warmth. But now she wondered what it would be like to lie in those arms, to lay her head on his chest. Simply sleeping next to him wasn't enough anymore. Now she wanted to lie with him, lie within his arms…

"Charlotte. Are you listening to me? It looks like there's a structure up ahead. We might be able to spend the night indoors. I think we both could use it."

She blushed and wondered what he would say if he could read her mind. As they approached the old ranch house, they discovered it was a hotel with rooms for rent. Sebastian fortunately had a fairly good amount of coin hidden on him when he'd been abducted and they'd picked up additional funds along the way; so paying for a room and baths was affordable.

After they'd both cleaned up and he'd seen to the horses, they ate dinner in the main dining room, thankful the rest of the guests mostly kept to themselves. They made small talk about the food, and how good it felt to be clean. When they got back up to the room, Charlotte quickly got ready for bed while Sebastian sat on the other side of the bed to pull off his boots.

"Hey, there's no use wasting this bed. Let's both sleep in it. I mean…" her whisper trailed off and she felt her cheeks burning hot when he turned to meet her gaze.

His eyes seemed to pierce through hers and he hesitated before he turned back to pull off his other boot. "I don't know the last time I've seen a bed this big, or felt one this comfortable. If I promise to be a perfect gentleman, will you believe me?" he asked her seriously.

She didn't quite trust herself to speak, and just nodded her head instead. The bed was huge. Even her dad's bed back at home wasn't this big. And he was right, it was comfortable. The pillows were goose down, and the freshly laundered quilt still smelled like the clean Texas air that had dried it. She took a deep breath and let her eyes fall closed as he crossed the room to check the lock on the door and strip down to his nightclothes. She heard him place his loaded pistol on the nightstand. Their room was on the second floor, but he crossed the room to check the windows were secure just the same. He turned down the kerosene lamp and Charlotte felt the bed sink as he crawled in on the other side to lie down beside her.

"Why've you been telling people we're married?" she asked to break the silence. She'd often wondered but wasn't sure what prompted her to ask it now.

He didn't answer right away; one thing she'd learned about him was he was a man of few words; but what he did share was well thought-out. "I guess I just don't want anyone else touching you, Charlotte," was his eventual answer.

The words brought a rush of heat to her face.

"It's the easiest way to ensure your protection," he continued quietly after a pause. "Ever since I busted in on that scene in the bar, Charlotte, the thought of anyone with their hands on you…I…well… it just makes me burn something fierce. I just can't stand the thought. So the best way to keep that from happening again is to tell people you belong to me." He paused, and then chuckled softly. "Most people don't want to fuck with me." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Whether I'm General Monroe, or like you found me, just some brawler "for coin", as you so aptly put it, most people steer clear."

"What about Miles," she asked quietly.

She felt him shift in the bed beside her. "Miles and I were like brothers, Charlotte. I mean, we were as close as two people could be, and together, we could do anything. And I mean anything. He is one of the few people who truly know me. And no, he's not afraid of me, if that's what you're asking. Miles and me, we're cut from the same cloth. We're equals."

"What about my mom?"

She heard him snort. "Rachel? Well honey, your mom has never much liked me, but I wouldn't say she's afraid of me either."

"Why didn't she like you?"

There was another pause before he answered with a bit of reluctance. "Charlotte… there's some topics that …well, would be best answered by someone else…"

She turned in the bed to face him. "Maybe so. But I want to hear it from you."

"Why me?" he asked quietly.

"Because you've never lied to me."

She heard him sigh. "All right. Well, for lots of reasons. But the main reason that started it all…I think, is because she was jealous."

"What?" She heard herself ask sharply, sharper than she'd meant to.

"She was. She was jealous of me…of my relationship with Miles. Miles and I were like two halves of a whole, Charlotte. And when it came down to it, she knew he would pick me and our unit over anything else, including her."

"But I don't understand. Why would she be jealous? Wasn't she with my dad?"

"Yep. She was."

"So are you saying…?"

"Yes."

Charlotte suddenly found herself fighting back tears, and more than anything, she didn't want him to know. She bit her lip in frustration and willed the tears not to stream down her face. It didn't work and she hastily wiped them away.

"Sometimes you can't help who you love, Charlotte," she heard him say. "I'm not saying it's right or wrong, but sometimes it just can't be helped. It's like…a moth being drawn to a flame. Anyway, I'm not sure either of them acted on it, but sometimes an emotional affair can be as powerful or more powerful than a physical one. So it doesn't really matter what happened, or didn't happen, it was there, just the same…"

"Yeah, I guess." Her throat was tight and she changed the subject. "So what should I call you, anyway?"

"Huh?" Her question seemed to startle him.

"I mean, what should I be calling you?"

"You mean besides "dearest husband, my lord and master?" She leaned over and swatted his arm in the dark. "Ouch!"

"Yeah, besides that."

"Charlotte, you can call me whatever you want."

She had realized he rarely called her Charlie, as did everyone else. She had been thinking of him as Monroe for so long, but now…he was Sebastian.

"Does anyone call you Sebastian?"

She heard him sigh. "Well I guess they do now."

She smiled into the darkness and felt herself drifting off to sleep.

Some hours later, Charlotte found herself waking up slowly. She batted the sleep from her eyes and was somewhat surprised to discover she was enveloped in Sebastian's body. The room had grown cold, and during the night their bodies had found the warmth they needed. She could tell by his even breathing that he was sound asleep. He had curled himself around her. She felt a cramp in her leg start to form and knew that as much as she didn't want to, she was going to have to move. She gently turned onto her back, and to her surprise he turned also, pulling her along with him so that her upper body was sprawled across his chest and her legs intertwined with his; now a much more intimate embrace than before. But she didn't feel awkward. It felt…right. She found her lids heavily falling of their own accord and she drifted back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3: A Gentleman

**A/N: **I'm thrilled with the positive response! These characters created by the writers of NBC's Revolution are just so much fun to play with, aren't they :-)

**Chapter 3: A Gentleman**

Sebastian awoke to find he was all wrapped up in Charlotte. Or rather, she was wrapped up in him. Either way, it was about to get pretty damn embarrassing for both of them if he didn't move fast. Too late, he muttered. He struggled to focus on anything other than the feel of her soft body and her alluring scent that permeated the bed and gently eased himself from her embrace. He vowed never to share a bed with her again, not as a "gentleman" anyway. No matter how much his body ached or how comfortable the bed looked, it was just too tempting. He lit the oil lamp and checked that his gun was still loaded (old habit) before quickly getting dressed. He heard her rousing behind him, and turned to meet her cornflower-blue eyes.

"Morning," she greeted him simply, and stretched and yawned. Jesus. He took a deep breath and counted to three.

"Sleep okay?" He asked her as he pulled the window's curtain aside to see the sun just peeking over the horizon.

"Yeah. Better than ever. I don't know if it's the effects of being drugged, but I haven't slept as soundly these past few days since I don't know when," she admitted carefully.

His movements were quick, jerky as he walked to the wash basin and poured water into the bowl, and then quickly splashed the cold water over his face. It felt welcome. He gently dried his face and turned to look at her. Now was as good a time as any.

"Charlotte, we need to talk."

She didn't respond immediately, but slowly rose from the bed and reached for her clothes to put them on. Okay, so she wasn't going to make this easy. Great.

"About what?" She finally asked, after she was fully dressed.

"Come on, you know what. About what's between us." He responded.

"I don't…what do you mean?" She abruptly quit pulling the tangles from her hair.

He walked over to her and spun her around to face him. "I mean this," and he pulled her into his arms. Her face was inches from his. "You going to deny that you haven't thought about it? Cause if you do, you're a liar," and he thrust her away from him almost as quickly as he had pulled her to him.

She licked her lips before she brought those beautiful blue eyes to his. "I think you're over reacting."

That cooled him down instantly. "Over reacting?" He asked her stiffly. He busied himself with strapping on his swords, his guns, the various knives.

Charlotte sounded pissed. "You're crazy if you think that I would…" she started, and stopped abruptly; and her tone grew sharper as she continued. "We slept in that bed…together… and nothing happened, which means—" he interrupted her before she could continue.

"Maybe that just means I was too fucking tired, or that I am a man of my word— a gentleman. Are you saying you don't want me to kiss you right now? Test the bedsprings on this bed? Huh? Cause darlin', I damn well want to and I'm running out of reasons why the hell not. But I gotta tell you, at the top of my list is that you hate my guts, and your whole family hates my guts. I can't take back the past, Charlotte. And we need each other right now, but not like that. " Well, to hell with hiding his frustration. He'd been an expert at masking his emotions for years. What the hell was going on here?

She didn't say anything, just finished gathering up her things before turning to face him. "You're crazy. There is nothing in this world that would make me want to be with you. For obvious reasons. It is never going to happen. Period. Besides, I'm not into you. There. I said it. Yes, I do think you are…an attractive man, but come on. There's way too much between us…it would never work."

Her last words were said almost like a dare. He ran his fingers through his hair. He was glad she was seeing it that way, because he couldn't risk it any other way. So why did he feel a twinge of disappointment at her words? He needed to remember what was really important. He needed her to get to Miles. He changed the subject, tried to make it sound like an apology. "I guess I've just been away from civilization too long. Everything comes down to money, sex and power, Charlotte. That's the source of the motives of the world."

"What about love?" She asked quietly.

"What about it?" He turned to face her fully. "Love is just a higher degree of a basic emotion, Charlotte. And you could argue that the love of that unholy trinity is what propels all action. Love of money, love of sex or love of power."

"So what, are you a philosopher now?"

"No, just telling it like it is. And I'm also telling it like it is when I say that there is something, god knows why, between us. You can deny it all you want sweetheart, but it's there, just like the sky is blue and clouds are white. And I am not interested in exploring that right now. Maybe never. "

"Look. What I care about, is getting to Miles and my mom. What you care about, is getting to Miles."

"That's right. And Miles will shoot me on sight if he even gets a whiff of anything like that between us. Period. You're his niece, for Christ's sake. And let's face it sweetheart, you need me. You heard that man Oliver, there's a gang of raping outlaws in the area, and while you're good, there is no doubt about that, travelling solo is a risk in this country. It's in your best interests to stick with me. Face it. We need each other." He sighed, and looked over to gauge her reaction.

"Yeah I know," was all she said. Finally they agreed on something. He felt himself relax a bit. He was somewhat satisfied, and changed the subject.

"Enough of this. We better get going. I paid for the room last night and we ought to get on the road. It's hard to say if any of those wanted posters have circulated beyond the Patriots and their allies, but I'd rather not find out the wrong way."

He took one last look around the room to make sure they hadn't left anything behind, and quietly crept down the stairs to front desk. Sebastian promptly left to get the horses while Charlotte turned in the key and grabbed a few pieces of fruit and bread for their breakfast.

After he helped her up on the back of the bay mare he swung up onto the chestnut. She settled into the saddle, "Tack? Nice. This will make the ride much more comfortable."

"Yeah, I bought it last night, along with some supplies. We're set now."

"How far are we from Willoughby? A few days, or more?" she asked as they rode out.

"Give or take," was all he responded.

He looked over at her. No more beds. Period.

They rode mostly in silence, and after a few hours, they stopped so they both could relieve themselves. Charlotte handed him the reins of her horse and quickly found a place behind a large rock. She squatted in the brush, and froze when she heard the click of a gun being cocked, and swore as she drew for her bow but was shoved face down in the dirt instead before her fingers could grasp it.

"Well," she heard a male voice whisper menacingly at her ear. "What do we have here?"

A/N:I plan to update soon (within a week) :-) Can't wait for the show to return after the break.


	4. Chapter 4: Out of the Frying Pan

**A/N:** My grave apologies for the lateness in this update. We had an unexpected and horrible blow to my family that has left us reeling. Death is a bear and a beast and at this time of year... quite merciless. However life goes on and on and on and getting back to it is a necessity.

I own only these ideas, the characters and backstory belong to Revolution, NBC Universal etc. Thank you all for your continued support. Seeing the reviews, favorites and followers were bright stars in my recent dark days :-) I hope you enjoy this. Keep the feedback coming. Merry Christmas Eve Eve.

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**Chapter 4: Out of the Frying Pan…**

Charlotte crept towards consciousness, her mind crawling with extreme resistance. But she was a Matheson. She was a fighter by nature. As she came to, her temple throbbed in protest and it felt like someone was stabbing an icepick into her shoulder. Her arms were bound behind her and she recognized the familiar jostling of being in a wagon.

Next she heard voices, not any she recognized; all male. She slowly opened her eyes. She was in some kind of enclosed wooden carriage. She was in a corner, propped up against a wall. There was a barred window across from her and next to her, as well as one on the door. And she wasn't alone. There was a woman seated across from her, and a man seated next to her. The man was unconscious, and she was relieved that it wasn't Sebastian.

She made eye contact with the woman. Charlie guessed she was in her thirties. Her clothing had clearly seen better days, but looked clean (although worn).

"Where are we going?" she whispered to the other woman.

The woman hesitated before answering. "I'm not sure," she whispered back.

"How long have they had you?"

"Three days."

"What about him?" She nodded at the unconscious man in the corner.

"They picked him up yesterday."

"How long have I been here?"

"It's hard to say. No more than a few hours." Charlotte looked out the window, but all she saw was empty Texas land.

"How many of them are there?"

"Six or so…but I think there are more. When they brought him in here, the wagon stopped just briefly to put him in here. I doubt this wagon was near the location where he was attacked. I was brought to the wagon on horseback- a considerable distance. I think they are kidnapping people and then are bringing them to this wagon. I fear my husband was mortally wounded…otherwise wouldn't he be here with me?" her voice became strained as they spoke of her husband.

"How did they attack you? What happened?"

"They came to our farmhouse, late morning. It's not unusual for travelers to stop in looking for news, or food to purchase. There were two men, pretending to be merchants. Instead they attacked us. My husband fought back and they wounded him badly, left him in the yard! They took me, and now here I am. They have given me water, and some food but I have no clue as to their intentions."

Charlotte turned her head to look over her shoulder. Her wrists were tied and secured to a metal loop in the wagon's wall.

"What's your name?" she finally asked.

"Libby."

"I'm Charlotte but most everyone calls me Charlie." Everybody but one person. Her gut twisted as she wondered where Sebastian was now. "Where are you from?"

"Our farm was forty miles south of Table Rock."

Both women stilled when they felt the wagon come to a stop. They heard the bolt lift before the door was opened. Another woman, about her age with long dark hair was pushed inside and quickly secured to the wall, opposite the unconscious man. Their captor didn't acknowledge their presence at all.

"Where are you taking us?" Charlotte asked evenly.

The man still didn't look at her, and didn't answer her either. He closed the door behind him with a bang. The wagon lurched forward and they were on the move again.

Hours passed. They rode in silence, except for the newest arrival, Jean, who wept silently in the corner. Charlotte wanted to comfort her, but couldn't make promises she couldn't keep. She couldn't say it was going to be all right, that they were going to get out of there. Charlotte had no idea what was in store for them. There was only one way to find out. Wait.

Hours later, she awoke as the clanging of the bolt announced the wagon's heavy door was about to be opened.

The same man entered the wagon and untied the woman across from Charlotte first, and they helped her out of the wagon. Then a few minutes later, he returned alone and then he released her and helped her down, as her hands were still bound behind her back. Each of the captives was then tied to each other with a long rope. They were lead to a round animal pen, and left there with their guard, who was armed with a rifle. And they waited. Two more small groups of prisoners similarly tied together joined them. There were people milling about everywhere, but they didn't pay any attention to them whatsoever, except an occasional quick glance.

Night fell. There was a group of buildings in front of them: one was a large, old fashioned barn. A lower, longer rectangular building looked like it was probably an animal barn. A few smaller houses were off to the side and a large ranch house oversaw the cluster of buildings, along with a shed, and numerous tents were set up everywhere. The whole area was enclosed by a tall wooden fence, with barbed wire on top.

All the captives were brought to the upper level of the large barn which was well-lit with torches. The barn had been converted into an arena, with rows of wooden benches. They were marched into the center and lined up, side by side.

A group of three men sat before them. The first man was black, probably in his 40s, and deceptively slender. Charlie bet that if he was stripped down he was muscled to the core. The second man was a much bigger and younger man-muscled; tanned, with dark hair; he was almost handsome; but his brows and chin had a cruel bent to them. The third man was the oldest of the three, probably her grandfather's age, and it was he who addressed them.

"Welcome, my friends. Welcome to our little kingdom," he smiled widely, revealing yellow stained teeth. "My name is Davis. And this is Reacher," he gestured to the big man, "and Combs," the black man raised his chin slightly as he was introduced. "It is my duty to inform you that by joining our little community, you can earn your freedom. All you gotta do is please your master." She felt the rope slipping from behind her, untethering her from the others but still her hands were bound behind her back.

Charlotte felt her heart beat a little faster. She looked at the two men on either side of Davis. The big man stepped forward, and said in a deep gravelly voice, vacant of emotion, "men to the left, women to the right. Do it. Now. " Charlotte resisted the urge to stay put. A little voice told her to not call attention to herself…yet. She took a few steps to the right and kept her head down, but kept her eyes pinned on Reacher. A few minutes passed as each of the men assessed each of the prisoners. Reacher made eye contact with her, and his eyes narrowed.

"You. Step forward. State your name and occupation."

Charlotte thought quickly. She couldn't very well say she was a rebel. "My name is Christine. I am a teacher." Reacher didn't say anything, but stayed still. Then he stepped forward, and pushed up her sleeve to reveal the mark of the Monroe Republic, the scar that had been branded to her skin those months ago. "Liar," he hissed. "You're no teacher. What's the former capital of Texas?" He barked at her.

"Houston."

"Wrong. It's Austin," he growled, and Charlotte thought he looked and sounded like a wolf. He was just trying to intimidate her.

"I taught kindergarten. Not geography," she vowed not to show him any fear.

He snorted and gave her a look that told her he totally didn't believe a word she'd said.

"Why don't we start with your real name?"

Charlotte didn't say anything. Just looked him straight in the eye and didn't blink.

"All right, we see how you are." The wolf called Reacher looked over at the head guy, Davis. The black guy caught both their attention as he spoke up.

"She could do well in my house. Her youth, her looks," he let the last trail off, and then added, "her spirit."

Davis considered her. "Yes, she might, but I also think you'd have to keep her under considerable control. I'm not sure the investment required would be worth it."

Combs curled his lip. "True. But her looks alone would command a nice price. And I can train anyone. In fact, I would delight in it." And he smiled, a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes. It sent a chill down her spine. She looked back to Davis, who spoke after regarding her silently.

"Let us see how she does, Reacher. If she does not perform for you, we can seek out…other arrangements."

Reacher grinned. The three men slowly began dividing up the prisoners until there were three groups. By this time, a small gathering of observers stood by, whispering. They stood together in small groups, talking quietly amongst themselves but it was clear they were talking about the prisoners…and their fates.

The prisoners were tied back together and each group was led away by one of the three men. She noticed the group with Reacher was all men, save herself, and that the group with Combs was all women, except one man. The last group following Davis included Libby. Each group was heading towards a different building. Combs headed towards one of the smaller houses. Davis' group headed towards the large ranch house. Reacher's group took a path around the barn to the bottom level of the large barn they were just in.

Once inside the dark lower level, each prisoner was untied and placed into a box stall. The sliding door was pulled shut and bolted from the outside; and she heard the distinct click of a lock. But there was nothing keeping her from talking to her neighbors. There was nothing in the stall except for a simple cot, and two pails. One was empty, the other had water. The floor was hard packed dirt. The stalls were wooden on three sides, the fourth wall being that of the barn. At chest level, heavy metal bars about four inches apart reached to the ceiling—about nine feet she guessed. She peered into the stall next to her, where a man was stretched out on his cot.

"Pssst," she whispered. "Hey."

The man cracked an eye and looked over at her. He raised an eyebrow and slowly sat up. He was a wiry man, with a heavy beard. He walked over to meet her at the wall that divided them. "Name's Brown. What's yours?"

"I'm Charlie," she answered. "What is this place?"

"You just arrive today?" He didn't answer, but asked a question of his own instead.

"Yes."

"How'd you escape from the fleshmaster?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Nevermind. It's just, well, it's pretty rare we see women here, that's all. But not unheard of."

"What do you mean? Why not?"

"How old are you?" Once again, he asked her a question instead.

"Old enough."

He scoffed. "Uh huh. You ever kill a man?"

What a weird question to ask someone you just met. She was quiet at first, then met his gaze with her own and answered simply, "yes."

Brown let out a big sigh. "Where are your people?"

"I'm not sure. Where are we?"

"You're in Hell, baby. Pure and simple. Hell."

She heard laughing from the other side. She turned to meet the gaze of a younger man, about her age or a little older. "What's so funny?" she snapped.

"You. Can't wait to find out your fate, huh."

"Well it's not every day that I find myself tossed into a wagon and put into a horse stall, so yeah."

"Well, just be glad you didn't go with Combs. At least here, we get to fight back."

"What happens to the people that go with Combs?"

"Were you taken alone, then?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Well it might make it easier to swallow. The women that went with Combs…"

"And there was a man," she interrupted.

He raised his eyebrow at that. "Interesting. Well the_ people_ that go with Combs go to become servants in the house of pleasure."

"A whorehouse," added Brown from the other side.

Charlotte gulped. She didn't want to even think about what that vile man had meant about "training" her. "And what happens here?"

"We serve in the house of arms. We fight for the master," he spat. "Reacher. Sometimes here, sometimes we travel…but always…we fight."

"With what?"

"It depends. Each fight is different. Sometimes you fight as a pair, or a team, sometimes alone."

A new voice joined them. "But first we have to see if you are worthy, _Charlie_." It was Reacher, approaching from down the aisle. "This may not work out, and if you can be better served with Combs, you will go there instead. So rest up. Tomorrow we will see what you are made of."

Charlie felt her blood run cold. Reacher laughed as he left the barn and slid the outer door shut with a heavy thud. The darkness swallowed her.


	5. Chapter 5: Into the Fire

**Chapter 5: Into the Fire**

Charlotte awoke with a start to the sound of metal clanging on metal. She opened her eyes to see a pail being lowered into her stall. She watched as the pail hit the ground, loosened the hook and raised back up. She looked inside to see a hard roll and pieces of dried meat jerky, along with a small tin cup which she quickly used to dip some water from the bucket to splash onto her face and scrub it with the soap hanging from a rope tied to the bar. She then realized what the other pail was for…gross. She quickly ate her food. Just as she finished another man was coming down the aisle to unlatch each stall door. She followed the others outside around and up to the upper level of the barn. Everyone lined up in front of Reacher, and another man—this man was shorter than Reacher, and more stout. He had a shaved head and a long jagged scar ran down his face.

"Listen up," announced Reacher. "All you new arrivals: This is Axe. He is going to take all your sorry asses through some basics, and then you're going to pair up and practice."

Axe took a step forward. "All right. All you take a seat. Digger and Chase! Come forward and give a demonstration." He barked out the words like a drill sergeant and handed each of them a wooden sword.

Charlotte's entire morning was spent watching the existing warriors at arms square off using various weapons: staffs, wooden swords (with or without shields, with one or two swords), battle axes, maces, chains, knives and so on. After each bout, where each match produced a winner, either Axe or Reacher would walk through the bout, pointing out what each fighter did well and what they did not do well at all. They broke for lunch and then they squared off. Charlotte was paired up with a tall, skinny younger man named David who wasn't thrilled about being with her. They were given wooden swords, two each, and tried implementing techniques from that morning.

By the time night fell, they'd had a full day of practice, and when they went into their cells that evening, they were given a hot stew and piece of bread. The young man was in his cell, but didn't stir when she arrived, Brown, on the other hand, promptly asked her what was for dinner.

Charlotte frowned. "Stew. Tastes like chicken. Why, don't you have the same thing?"

"No. What did they tell you happens tomorrow?" he asked her quietly.

"Nothing. They just said to eat up, rest up, and tomorrow we get tested some more."

Brown shook his head ever so slightly. "I just want you to be ready. If they're feeding you meat, it means you fight the next day. But you only get protein depending on who you are fighting. For you, if you are fighting a stronger opponent, then you will get protein. If not, then you get regular broth. Then you get protein as a reward…after the fight. This is how they motivate."

Charlotte thought quietly for a few moments. "Okay, but then that means we're not fighting each other…"

"No. I don't think so," he agreed.

"We're fighting you."

Brown smirked. "Brains and beauty. A deadly combination, my friend."

She grimaced. "How long have you been here, anyway?"

At first she didn't think he was going to answer. He finally said quietly, "two years or so."

Charlotte couldn't help but gasp. "Two years?" she repeated. Nothing more needed to be said.

Brown was staring off into the distance, and then suddenly his eyes snapped back to hers, and he bit out painfully, "where are your people, Charlie? And what is your last name?"

"My last name is Matheson," she said slowly. "My people don't know I'm here. My mom, my uncle, my old teacher…they're in Willoughby with my grandfather. My dad and my brother…they died less than a year ago." Last night she hadn't wanted to tell too much, but like he said, she was no dummy. She knew why he was asking her. He didn't expect her to make it past tomorrow.

"So no one knows you are here? How did you get here? Were you traveling on the road when they picked you up?"

"Yes we were travelling to Willoughby. I was with a…friend of the family." She stumbled over the words. Is that what he was? Anything but, really. Maybe at one time, maybe…

"And you were both taken?"

"No. I don't know what happened to him. They hit me over the head, knocked me out. When I came to, I was in their wagon. Se—he wasn't there. I haven't seen him since. I don't know what happened to him."

Brown was watching her carefully, stroking his chin. "So you were travelling with a man?"

"Yes. But if they had come upon him he would have fought. He's a fighter," she choked out. Her situation was becoming more and more clear. She didn't know where Sebastian was, her family had no idea she was in this predicament, and she was going to be used to fight for the amusement of others…to the death. "So that part Davis said about winning your freedom… was that a lie?"

Brown pursed his lips together and gave a slight shake of his head. "If you are good, naturally they want to keep you around, keep you fighting. If you are not good, then you die. It is that simple. So…there's really no winning in this situation. I have not seen anyone win their freedom. It is not something we talk about much. You notice we do not have much community time. The only people you really can talk much to are your neighbors down here. In the house of pleasure, it's worse. They are drugged. Soon they don't remember anything. They don't want to. "

"What about you, Brown. Where are your people?"

Once again, Brown stared over her shoulder, seeing people from his past …Charlotte waited patiently for him to respond. "I had a wife. She died in here about a year ago. She was sent off with Combs…she finally had enough I guess. They are drugged so they will be complacent. She somehow quit the drugs, she and this other one over there. They found her out. They killed her. Tortured her and hung her in the square for all to see how rebels are treated. The other one…they brought her here. She died fighting."

"That's barbaric."

"Welcome to Meh-HEE-koh."

Charlotte paused. "Mexico? We're in Mexico?"

Brown pursed his lips again. "Yep. You'd best rest up, Charlie. You may not feel it now, but you will tomorrow. Stretch out before you go to bed, and stretch again when you get up."

Charlotte shivered.

The next morning, she woke to the squeaky metal pail being lowered to the ground. She carefully washed her face, her hands, and ate the flour tortillas that were in the breakfast pail. She smiled faintly when she noticed the short piece of twine tied to Brown's wall. She finger-combed her hair and thought a braid, tied up close to her head so it couldn't be used to pull her to the ground, would be the best course of action. She took Brown's advice and spent the next several minutes stretching her sore muscles. Her shoulder was on the mend and felt pretty loose. She looked over to Brown's cell, which was empty, as was the young man's cell on her other side. He had not introduced himself, but he looked a lot like her brother Danny, so she'd already started thinking him as "Clone".

The door to her cell slid open with a bang. She stepped out, and looked towards the main door of the barn. She walked with the rest of the prisoners outside and around the barn. There were guards with guns escorting them, and she noticed that once again, the townspeople were going about their business as if they were not even there.

They walked through the huge double doors to the center of the arena, where Reacher and Axe were waiting, and once all were assembled, Reacher spoke to the small crowd. "Today, we find out what each of you are made of. Tonight, you will fight against someone better than you. Someone stronger than you. Someone who has killed many men before you. But you receive one advantage. Your opponent may have one arm tied behind their back." He shared a glance with Axe. "Your opponent may have a lesser weapon than you. He may have been denied food or water. Your advantage may or may not be clear to you. But if you can find it…exploit it. For the man you are facing is going to kill you. Or you will kill him. Am I clear?"

Charlotte quickly looked around the group. She could easily see that a few had been warned by trusted cellmates, as she had been warned. Others were not so fortunate and were hearing this for the first time. Their faces pale, mouths slack-jawed, eyes wide.

"So use this time wisely. You will practice until lunch. Then a rest period, and the fights start at dusk." Reacher turned and left the building, and Axe started handing out weapons.

Charlotte trained that morning with all the weapons she could get her hands on, and also spent time watching the others when she could. Most of them, sadly, wouldn't stand a chance fighting a seasoned opponent. Charlotte vowed that no matter who she faced, she would channel the hatred from that night at the bar. The night Sebastian Monroe came to her rescue. Where was he, anyway?

As nightfall approached, they were herded back upstairs to the arena, and put into what was once a large animal pen in the corner; once again with steel bars, so they could watch the arena. Dusk came. The smell of smoke and burning kerosene filled the air. The benches started to fill, and swell, until the barn was full.

Reacher welcomed the crowd, promising an evening full of "Blood, sweat and tears!"

And the fights began. Axe would come to get each of the newer prisoners and escort them to the arena door, and they met their opponents, the "champions" as Reacher was calling them, in the center of the arena floor. As Reacher had described, the champion faced a disadvantage. Charlotte waited until finally Axe called her name, and as if in a dream, she was lead through the throng of bloodthirsty, screaming men who looked at her with bloodlust in their eyes. They weren't seeing her at all. They were seeing her death. They craved it.

Charlotte heard nothing of how she was introduced; she heard nothing but the roar of the crowd. Her face a mask of control, she accepted her weapon and turned to face the opponent as he entered the ring. She took a deep breath when she realized the young man she would be facing was the one who was a mirror image of her brother. Clone.

She met his gaze and didn't break it. She took hold of the weapon they had handed to her—a sword. She watched as they introduced her advantage: a shackle was placed around his ankle, held by a six-foot rope connected to a heavy, iron ball that had been wheeled in and dropped on the metal floor by Reacher and Axe. Charlotte scanned the crowd, looking for anyone, anyone, wondering again where Sebastian was and yet she knew, there was only one way out of this. The arena doors closed behind her, and the look in her opponent's eyes was filled with purpose, and Charlotte knew he intended to kill her.

They circled each other, and he attacked first. She raised her sword in a defensive blow, spun, and using her right foot, kicked his left foot from out from under him. The young man lost his balance and fell to the ground; but it was his face, contorted with rage, that drew the crowd's attention and they roared with approval and encouragement.

Before he regained his footing, Charlotte drew the sword back in a sweeping motion, causing the crowd to gasp and she brought it down hard onto the thick rope that held him to the ball. "I only believe in fighting fair!" she announced, and he jumped to his feet, his anger making him quick and careless. Once again, she blocked his attack, one after the other as he hit her with a barrage from above, below, he threw everything in the book at her. She knew that she wouldn't be able to outlast him in stamina, she continued to block his moves and she found herself concentrating on the scar on his cheek to remind her that it wasn't Danny, even though she was having a hard time moving to an offensive position because of it. His blows were coming harder though, as he realized this wasn't going to be an easy, quick fight; that she wasn't a pushover. Her arm was tiring and she knew that she was going to have to make a move soon. She blocked the next move and now she went on a fierce attack designed to bring him down. She spun around his back to once again, kick his feet out from under him; and as he did so his head hit the heavy iron ball with a loud crack. He did not move again.

The crowd cheered, she didn't remember dropping her sword, or having her arms raised above her head, or coins being thrown at her feet. But what she did remember, was her eyes finding a set of steady blue eyes in a sea of rage…she started to call out, to walk towards him but Axe quickly pulled her away.

Sebastian. He was here. As her brain slowly tried to understand what that meant, she was shoved back into the pen where the other prisoners clapped her on her back, hugged her, and used a towel to wipe down her arms which revealed that she was covered with blood. She slowly sank into the crude wooden bench as her legs gave out from beneath her. He had come.


End file.
